


Blood-Glucose level

by Clovercove



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Cereal, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Gen, Number Five | The Boy Has Issues, Number Five | The Boy-centric, Sad Number Five | The Boy, and only Diego has a speaking role, hes got some problems ya'll, its just Five being sad about food, maybe? would this be considered a disorder?, the other two aren't really there much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:48:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25723870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clovercove/pseuds/Clovercove
Summary: Cereal is a classic breakfast food and Five decides eating it at three in the morning will solve all his problems. Sadly cereal can't erase forty five years in the apocalypse.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 264





	Blood-Glucose level

A bountiful meal was not something scarce in the Hargreeves home. Their father was a billionaire, and their mother was a doll of a woman who often made meals fit for royalty. They had full meals every night for dinner and quaint buffets for breakfast. It was practically a staple for their family to have more food than any of them could really eat. 

Five had a normal appetite as a child. He didn’t eat nearly as much as Luther (he didn’t think anyone could, really) and he didn’t poke at what were practically rations on their plates like Ben and Allison. He ate a normal amount of food like a normal child. 

That is, when he was a child. Now he is a fifty eight year old in a child's body with memories of someone who had a complicated relationship with food. That, of course, transferred into how he ate in this new body. A growing boy needs to eat a lot of food, as Klaus would teasingly say, and Five knew this. It was basic knowledge anyone knows. You need to eat a healthy amount of food for your body to grow and develop as it's supposed to. He knows he should eat like a normal teenager. He knows this new body isn’t used to being deprived of food, and his stomach growls in complaint. He knows all of this. And so, as he clutches a cold metal spoon in the kitchen at three in the morning, glaring at a full bowl of cereal, it's not hard to piece together why he’s so frustrated. 

He had been irritable all day. He was snapping at his siblings more so than usual, complaining about things he would normally let slide. Diego had been tossing his knife up in the air and catching it with his other hand. He was well experienced with knives, and so he effortlessly threw it from hand to hand as he sat on the couch opposite of Five. It wasn’t even his fault really, Allison had just opened the door leading into the family room, causing Diego to look up and fumble with the knife, dropping it to the floor with a loud clatter. 

Five’s head shot up from his book and his ever present scowl sat deeper on his face, glaring at Diego with a heat that was wholefully over dramatic for the situation. With a hiss he said “stop being so loud,” to which Diego gritted his teeth and flipped him off. He was often affected by the emotions of the people around him, and Five’s sour mood certainly did no good for him on this otherwise peaceful day. 

He had thrown a book at Klaus when he was chattering about something he saw the other day, complaining about how annoying he was being. He had told Luther to shut up when he mentioned their father just once, talking about how his organization of the files in his office was neat and efficient. He scoffed at Allison when she asked which dress she would look better in when she went to go see Claire. Vanya was thankfully not there to be subjected to his ire, but that did little to quell the anger of the others as the day wore on and he got angrier and snapped quicker. 

“Why are you such an ass?” Diego bit out after one of Fives arguments. 

“Oh I don’t know, maybe because it’s hard being surrounded by people with brains the size of walnuts that can't even function as human beings half the time,” Five over-explained. Of course, why would Diego expect any better. 

“Oh come on, man! You’re just being an ass for no reason! What’s got your panties in a twist anyways, huh? Are you upset that we’re moving on from the apocalypse while you’ve still got your head stuck up your ass refusing to live past it? It's over Five. We stopped the apocalypse. Get a fucking hobby or something. Stop obsessing over something that's not going to happen anymore,” Diego barked out, carding a hand through his hair as he glared. Five glared back before jumping into his room in a flash of blue. Of course. The fucking coward. 

He didn’t come out the rest of the day, acting like an actual child. He was well aware of that fact and his cheeks burned with the knowledge. Yet every time he made for the door, he would get angry. An indecisive anger, one that grew red and hot and violent and exploded out of nowhere. He was having a fit like a child and that just made him angrier, so he threw his book of the day, “ _ beyond good and evil”  _ by Friedrich Nietzsche, at the wall and fumed. And he stayed like that till three in the morning until the knowledge that he hadn’t eaten all day struck him like a bullet. 

It was also common knowledge, along with the fact that a healthy diet helps you grow, that a diet in general makes you more happy. When you’re hungry you get easily irritated. The brain is an organ that derives its energy off of Glucose, a sugar that is made up of the things you digest. When your blood-glucose levels drop, it's harder to concentrate. And concentration is key when reading a book, which Five had been trying to do all day. And failing at, mind you. And because he couldn't process the words he was reading, he had grown irritable. Of course. Five was now utterly embarrassed with himself. How could he have not noticed sooner? It all clicked into place. He just needed something to eat and he’ll be ripe as rain, back to his normal snappy self in no time. 

And that's where he finds himself, in the kitchen at three am glaring at a cereal bowl as if it had caused the apocalypse single handedly. He just needed to eat. He just needed to get his blood-glucose levels normal and his siblings won't hate him as much anymore and he’ll stop acting like a child. It will all go back to normal. 

So why can’t he just  _ eat?  _ It's right in front of him, so laughably close and so mockingly innocent. His stomach hurts, burning in that familiar feeling of hunger. And he can end that right here, with a simple spoon directed towards his mouth. And yet he just sits there as the sugary wheat flakes grow soggy and disgusting. 

It’s now four in the morning and he still sits there, stomach rumbling with a plea he could so easily fulfil yet stubbornly refuses to.

It's a funny thing really, what the brain can do. It's a contradiction. His brain is making him irritable with the lack of glucose, yet it refuses to let him eat. He had picked up philosophy books for the sole reason of figuring out how to navigate his own mind so he can know how to function as a man in a child's body. He wasn’t a fan of the warring sides of him as a whole, mind against body, mentality against physicality. A body being a prison cell was something that wasn’t new to the land of psychology and philosophy, as it turns out. 

The cereal was mocking him, which was impossible since it was inanimate. It was an object unlucky enough to be caught in the crossfire of Five’s own little war, forced to play the role of a bad guy. Which wasn’t all that bad because, again, it was inanimate and therefore had no opinion on the matter. It also had no opinion on the decision Five had made to walk outside and smash the ceramic bowl against the ground, chips and pieces flying in every direction. Milk pooled on the ground, sinking into the gravel and absorbing into the dirt. What once was crispy wheat flakes were now brown piles of mush scattered about the ground. Five scowled down at them and walked back inside. 

He almost immediately stormed back outside with a vengeance and kicked the gravel in spots that held most of the meal, burying his shame with a few well aimed kicks. His stomach rumbled and his face gained a truly unreadable look, standing outside of his old family house, kicking up dirt and soggy wheat flakes at four in the morning. He looked utterly ridiculous. 

It now looked like a fight took place where he stood. The white ceramic remains could have been a vase smashed against a burglar's head in self defense. The wheat flakes, colors warped in the dark, could be close to looking like blood splatter. 

Five shook his head at the thought. Why would a vase and a burglar be outside? He supposes the burglar could be sneaking out with the vase, but then why would someone need it in self defense if the burglar is already walking away? Maybe they just wanted to catch the perpetrator and didn’t care about the vase. But then, if the burglar is already outside with the vase, why would the victim be awake? The burglar would have had to be very quiet to get in and out so far without any interaction, so certainly the victim wouldn’t be woken up as they’re leaving. And how would the victim even get the vase in the first place to smash it against the burglar's head?

Five hit the heel of his hand against his temple, shaking those ridiculous thoughts out of his head. Nothing of the sort happened. It's just a bowl and some cereal on the ground. Cereal that should have nourished someone. And he just wasted it. 

Oh god he wasted it. Food is important, scarce to come by. Oh god the milk. Cold, drinkable liquid is something you don't come by in the apocalypse. And he had wasted it. 

Five sunk down to his knees, cupped his hands, and scooped up the soggy chunks of cereal, greedily swallowing it in a frantic scramble. Gravel and all. Disgusting. He reveled in it. 

The milk was long lost, but that didn’t matter. He had food. Sustenance enough for him to survive the coming days on his mad dash to find clean water and figure out how to get back to his family. Easy peasy now that he had food. 

Where was Delores? She usually quipped to him something sharp and funny as he ate, filling the dull silence with intelligent murmurs he so loved to hear from her. 

He shuddered in the cool night air. It must be winter then. When the years rolled on and the fires died down, the winters would bite with a vengeance, making up for the sweltering year with chilling frost. It struck quickly and deadly, but Five knew how to survive. 

That's all he does anymore, besides scribble away in the margins of his sister's book. Survive. Live one more day. Make it through so you can save them. Save everyone. 

A hand on his shoulder snapped him out of it. His head shot up to look at Klaus and the scenery of a broken, white world melted from his view. He got up fast, tugging his shoulder away from the man as he brushed off the dirt from his knees. Before Klaus could say a word he briskly walked past him into the house, walking through the kitchen up to his room. 

He was thirsty. The meager remains of his cereal stood heavy in his stomach, which still growled for more, and his throat burned from forcing down bits of ceramic and gravel. His mind was slow and foggy, which irked him more, and most of all he was tired. 

At least that was something he could remedy. 

He clambered onto his bed and let his eyes fall shut. 

His stomach growled. 

**Author's Note:**

> Bro Five please go to a therapist you need it buddy


End file.
